


The Other Boy

by catness



Category: Original Work
Genre: Children, Funny, Gen, Occult, Religion, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catness/pseuds/catness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It was written for a challenge to expand the following hint fiction, called My Son's Fifth Grade Journal, into a story.</p><p>"This boy catches balls, divides fractions, won't die if he drinks milk, grabs flags off the other team's players. My dad loves this other boy."</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Other Boy

**Author's Note:**

> It was written for a challenge to expand the following hint fiction, called My Son's Fifth Grade Journal, into a story.
> 
> "This boy catches balls, divides fractions, won't die if he drinks milk, grabs flags off the other team's players. My dad loves this other boy."

The chalk pentagram on the floor glowed faint red in the darkness of the basement. The fluorescent chalk marker was not the top quality, but it was the best one could get for $2. Les had been struggling with a grave financial situation for months. Magic was an expensive hobby, and the recent purchase of a magic wand emptied his piggy bank. The wand, made of yew with a phoenix feather core, was authentic Harry Potter merchandise. Not that Les believed the silly fantasy stories - those books were for kids, after all. But for what he had planned, a decent wand was a must, and his attempts to fashion one from twigs, pigeon feathers and glass shards did not amount to anything adequate. He was notoriously bad with his hands, as well as with his arms, legs, eyes and other body parts; in short, everything except his brain. 

He lit 9 black candles placed around the pentagram and stood in front of it with the wand in his hand, raised up to the sky (or at any rate, up to the ceiling). His high voice rang clear and strong, echoing from the concrete walls, as he chanted the incantation, written by himself using bits and snippets from several reliable sources.

"I strongly command and conjure thee, O Demon, that thou dost forthwith manifest before me within this Pentagram, and do any thing that I shall demand of thee, and become mine loyal Servant from now and for ever, and I bind thee with the Power of the Lord Almighty and with thine True Name, which is... YUCK!" Les violently jerked the wand, shaking off a disgusting slug that dropped onto it from the ceiling. The damp basement definitely was not the best choice for doing magic. It would be so much better to perform the ritual at the cemetery, according to the recommendations from "The Art of Dark Ritual 101" and "Demonology for Dummies". But the cemetery was on the other side of the city, and sneaking out of the house and spending the whole night away from home was too risky. If Mom and Dad discovered it, they'd throw a fit and ground Les for at least a month.

Les carefully wiped the wand with his eyeglasses' cleaning cloth, trying to decide if he ought to start the evocation from the beginning, or it was all right to proceed from where he was interrupted. But something was already happening. The pentagram glowed brighter, and the darkness within its boundary began to stir. The air condensed into a blurry shape of a huge winged cockroach standing on its hind legs.

"Yuck," muttered Les, staring at the creature's twitching antennae. His fascination with monsters and demons did not extend to insects.

"At your service," hissed the creature and made a clumsy attempt to bow.

"What the Hell are you?" asked Les, adjusting the silver crucifix around his neck just in case and keeping the wand trained on the beast.

"I am Yuck, demon of thirteenth level," replied the creature and flapped its black batlike wings. "And you? I guess you're a sorcerer?"

"Oh. Yes, I am!" Les beamed proudly. It was the first time anybody called him a sorcerer, and the compliment felt good even coming from a mutant cockroach. He was not spoiled by compliments. 

"Cool!" said the demon, apparently unfazed by being conjured. "And what kind of a service do you want from me?"

"Oh, service." Les hesitated - the creature looked too gross to inspire confidence in its abilities. But then, all demons were supposed to shapeshift... "I want you to become me."

"Become a human? No way, I am a demon! Yuck!"

"I mean, to impersonate me. Just for a while. You can turn into human form, can't you?" Les had a momentary vision of a giant cockroach in school uniform flying across the soccer field. But no matter how awesome would it be to see the horror and panic and hopefully the coach dropping dead of a heart attack, it would not help him in the long run.

"I guess I can," said the creature. "I never tried. Could be fun."

"Then here's your chance! I mean, I command thee to assume the shape that is a perfect likeness of me."

The demon's body twisted and warped, molding like plasticine. Its colors flowed into one another, going through all the spectrum and finally settling on pinkish white for the skin, ginger for the hair and sky blue for pajamas and fluffy slippers. Les realized with a start that in the excitement of the moment he had forgotten to don his black ceremonial robe, created from a sheet nicked from the dryer and an old ink cartridge. But it didn't matter, as the ritual worked anyway. He walked around the pentagram and meticulously examined his doppelgänger. "I think the ears are way too big, and the glasses are too thick."

"Don't blame the mirror," said the demon.

Les fingered his ears and grudgingly concluded that the demon was right. "Oh well. How long you can maintain this shape?"

"For seven human days and nights. Then I'll need seven hours of regeneration."

"Only seven days? Not like, 666?" 

"Adult demons can do it much longer, but they have higher stamina."

"You mean you're a kid?" Les was a bit disappointed; conjuring an immature demon felt like it somehow diminished his triumph. "How old are you?"

"I'm not a kid!" protested the demon, his new ears glowing bright pink. "I'm hundreds of years old! But for a demon, time passes differently. I'm simply not fully grown up yet."

"Oh. All for better, so you won't mind going to school."

"No!" howled the demon. "Not the stupid Dark Arts again!"

"Dark Arts?" Les' eyes lit up.

"Hexes, jinxes, curses, necromancy, the art of death, the theory of chaos, the essays on the nature of evil... boring as Cerberus' shit! noooo, please, not the school!"

"If we studied all this stuff, I'd never left the classroom..." Les sighed. "My school is not anything like yours. We've got to do all kinds of crap - math, science, classic literature, and the worst of all, sports! What could be more stupid than running around a field to chase a leather ball?"

"Sounds like fun," said the demon. "We're not allowed to play games at school." 

"Then it's settled - you're going to school instead of me. Tomorrow there's a soccer match, and next week, a Capture the Flag game."

"Cool!" The demon clapped his hands. "Wait... what if I won't like it?"

"You are my servant," reminded him Les. "You have to do what I tell you."

"Really? And what if I don't?"

"I dunno... I mean, I'll annihilate you? Or banish you back to Hell?"

"Um, I'd rather not go back," said the demon.

"You don't want to go back to Hell?"

"Well, um, there's that temptation and torture lab next dark moon, and the essay on Angels and Demons, and a spells quiz... How do you play this Capture the Flag?"

***

And so the happy days started. Relieved of school responsibilities, Les spent most of his time in the public library, up to his nose in his favorite subjects - occult, witchcraft, necromancy, Voudou and other black magic. Not all the books were accessible to underage readers, but he got Yuck to steal them for him when the demon was free from homework, sports and hanging around with friends - for some reason, he became the most popular boy in the class in a matter of days, especially after single-handedly kicking the crap out of the gang of bullies who used to make Les miserable. His parents were thrilled with the dramatic change in their son's grades and school reports. Dad even promised to take him on a mountain climbing trip in summer, and the demon already looked forward to it.

One dark and stormy night, when Les was about to doze off with "The Necronomicon" under his pillow, a blast of lightning ripped through the window and hit the skull-shaped night light on his bedside table. The light went off. A fierce whirlwind emerged out of the darkness and turned the bed upside down. However, Les didn't fall on the floor. Instead, he tumbled into an empty bottomless well that mysteriously appeared under the bed. In horror, he shut his eyes tight, but he couldn't escape the sound of thunder rumbling in his ears.

When the fall came to an end, Les opened his eyes and found himself sprawled on a metal grate, surrounded by a sphere of fire. He frantically dug through the pockets of his pajamas, searching for the wand, but apparently it dropped out somewhere on the way. In the absence of the wand, he clutched the crucifix hanging from his neck, but it felt feeble and non-reassuring.

A deep rumbling voice, coming from the outside of the sphere, announced: "Lesley Howard Jones, welcome to Hell."

Les stood up, tiptoeing on the warm metal. He could vaguely distinguish a huge dark figure with fiery red eyes staring at him through the flames, but without his glasses he couldn't get a good look at it. Besides, it kept changing shape. One moment it resembled a human, then a goat, then a bat, then a pig, then a dragon.

"Begone, vile demon," shrieked Les, thrusting the crucifix forward and mentally cringing at how unconvincing it sounded. He racked his brain for banishing spells, but every spell he could remember involved banishing the demon to Hell, so they were not of any use if he was already in Hell to begin with.

"Lesley Howard Jones," continued the thunderous voice, "three dark moons ago you have summoned and enslaved a demon of the thirteenth rank, named Yuck Beelzebill Belial. Good job."

"Good job?!" Les' jaw dropped. Did he just hear a fearsome demon from the Inferno giving him praise?

"Well, messing up the protection spells was his own fault. But being a son of one of the four Crown Princes of Hell, he was supposed to be untouchable by a mortal. So yes, you did a fine evocation."

"Crown Prince of Hell?" Les remembered that his captive had never mentioned his family and skillfully turned the conversation to another subject whenever Les asked personal questions about his relatives.

"Indeed," sighed the demon. "That wretched imp is my spawn, an eternal shame on my nonexistent soul."

"That would make you... Belial?" 

"At your service. Figuratively, of course." The demon chuckled. "Knowing my name will not aid you in enslaving me. In fact, I could turn you into black smoke this very instant, in spite of that shiny bauble in your hand. But such a bright young human has nothing to fear. What a contrast with my good-for-nothing son."

"You know, Yuck is not that bad," said Les. "To be fair, he's been doing really well."

"Right. Kicking a ball around a field, punching classmates and telling rude jokes is what he does best. No wonder he's afraid to return back home, where he's supposed to actually study something. You, on the other hand, are a diligent and capable scholar. I've been watching you ever since the abduction, and I'm impressed. You've managed to amass a considerable amount of magical knowledge even from the most inadequate sources."

Les blushed. His parents threw a scandal whenever they caught him reading anything about magic. Being praised for it felt weird, but extremely satisfying.

"I have a great offer for you," continued Belial. "I want to adopt you instead of my son."

Les gasped. "But you're a demon! Sure you just want my soul?"

"I'll take your soul, but only to give it to my son so he can turn into a proper human. He is unworthy of being my heir, but he's still my flesh and fire. If I'm casting him out, the least I can do is to provide for his future, though miserable as it will be. But as for you, my boy, I envision a great and fulfilling destiny ahead of you. Here in Hell, your intelligence and motivation will be appreciated, your talents will be cherished and nurtured."

Les' heart beat faster. Visions of heavy magical grimoires and armies of monsters under his command flashed through his mind. But then he felt the crucifix burning his palm. It became unbearably hot to hold, but he squeezed it tight, trying to come to his senses. It was not a game. What was he thinking, going to Hell on his own accord?!

"No," he shrieked, "that's a sin! I exorcise thee, evil spirit! I want to go home!"

Belial laughed. The thunder of his laugh caused the flames to leap higher and stretch their fiery tongues towards Les. He crouched on the grate and cupped his ears, trying to hide from the deafening rumble but it sounded louder and louder. The voice of the demon screamed inside his head: "DO YOU THINK YOU HAVE A CHOICE?"

***

The grandfather clock struck nine. Lester Joyce got up from the chair and turned off the light. The children howled in frustration. 

"But Daddy, you didn't finish the story!" cried Miriam. 

"Tell us how Les managed to escape from Hell!" echoed her brother Jake. 

"No, kids, that's enough for today," said Lester. "I don't want you to be all sleepy in the morning so we'd be late for school again."

"Mommy always lets us stay till midnight!" argued Miriam.

"Well, this is too bad. When I'll see her, I'll talk to her." He tucked the blankets around both kids and kissed their foreheads. "Good night, little imps."

"Night, Daddy!" replied two voices.

Lester closed the bedroom door behind him and walked to the staircase across the corridor. Then he plopped on the floor and transformed into a huge winged cockroach. He had been a human for many years, but he still had retained some of his former skills, and it was fun to exercise them - of course when no one was watching. He spread his black wings and flew down the stairs, enjoying the cool conditioned air against his exoskeleton. He sat on the ceiling of the living room, cleaning his antennae and wondering how his namesake was doing. The real Lester Joyce got out of touch several years ago. They used to stay in occasional contact until the Hell was torn apart by a ferocious civil war. The adopted son of Belial was one of the main instigators of the conflict, and fighting for the throne took all his energy and time.

Not that Lester Harvey Joyce, formerly Yuck Beelzebill Belial, really cared. He had his hands full with his own problems - mortgage, divorce, two kids (sweet but totally unmanageable), dumb bosses, bitchy customers, recession and skyrocketing prices. Not to mention various epidemics, explosions, earthquakes and elections. In other words, all hell was breaking loose.

It doesn't matter if you escape from Hell or escape to Hell. By and large, everywhere it's all the same.


End file.
